


The Buck Stops Here

by Lightspeed



Series: Monstrous Intent [30]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Anal Sex, Anger, Angst, Body Shots, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dullahan!Soldier, Falling In Love, Fantastic Racism, Faun!Scout, Fluff, Freckles, Frottage, Gentle Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Massage, Minor Violence, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Romance, Rough Sex, Rutting, Self-Esteem Issues, Werewolf!Demoman, cyborg!Engineer, djinni!Pyro, garuda!Medic, half-jotun!Heavy, kitsune!Spy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going through rut is taking its toll on Scout.  Spurned by a friend and former sex partner, he has to deal with violent mood swings, sexual urges, and bouts of self-doubt.  He's sick of not being himself, of being nothing more than an animal, and of hurting his friends, forced to wallow in his own impotent rage and self-loathing, on top of which are a whole host of new, confusing Feelings.  Heavy believes he is not so bad as he thinks, and more important to the team than he knows.  Heavy and the team are important to Scout, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Scout snarled, bearing down on Heavy, his cheek pressed against the giant's muscular back, soft hair tickling at his nose as it crinkled up in an aggressive wince. He felt so hot, so soft, so hard, so tight, and the muscle flexing beneath that warm flesh trembled to the faun's sensitive reckoning. He grunted low, voice edged with something inhuman; it was a throaty rumble, shades of the bellow of a buck in rut underpinning each growl and groan that spilled from Scout's slightly parted mouth.

His hips snapped, hooves digging into the mattress and fraying its fabric, several holes already worn into its surface. Bulges of decompressing foam, sponge-yellow and open-celled, poked up through the gaps in pilled white ticking like they were the bed's bleeding wounds, wear and tear from the faun's first rut. The impact of fur to flesh was a dull thwap, slamming bodies together in 2/4 time, Heavy's body rocking on the squealing metal bed with each hurried invasion of his body.

The giant bit the pillow, his moans muffled, barely disguising the increasingly desolate strain of his voice as Scout hammered at him without mercy, the younger, smaller man's sinewy arms thrown around him, clutching his hip and belly and pressing their bodies tightly together. It made him tremble, the sheer power behind each crash of hips, each thrust, unbelievable in the wake of his own power. He was a mountain of muscle and might, the strength of the ice giants flowing through his veins. He was a glacier. He was the winter's wrath. He was enormity and potency given form, a giant-man of unmatched calibre. Yet here in the rickety BLU standard-issue bed where he lay on his chest and knees, naked, hands clutching the barred, metal headboard, he was being laid low by a man half his size, fucking him into a desperate, hopeless heap.

The force of his frenzy wasn't all of it. His skill drove the sense from the genius giant's mind, striking him with terrifying accuracy with each vicious stroke, injecting lightning into his spine with each pass, heat and pressure and utter, unyielding pleasure taking him over under a haze of the pain and discomfort of having his asshole brutalized by the faun's rigid phallus. It made white spots prick at the corners of his vision and his jaw clench hard enough to ache. It made him make sounds of surrender, submission leaking over his lips into that pillow where instead it should be devouring challenging roars, cries meant to echo Scout's own bellowing and reply with equal vigor. Instead, he was being claimed and taken, and could not, would not do a damned thing to stop the younger man as his superhuman legs brought their bodies together in ravenous congress.

"You like that? You fuckin' like my dick so deep in you I can fuck your goddamn tonsils? Lemme hear it; I wanna hear it; I wanna hear you moan like a freakin' whore while I tear this ass up," Scout cursed, lust and venom in his words, dominant and frantic.

Heavy replied with a particularly sharp gasp when Scout rammed right into his prostate to punctuate his point.

"Yeah, you love it when I fuck your ass. Big giant slut. You're all about bein' big an' strong an' quiet but you yowl like a fuckin' cat in heat when there's a cock in you. Little tiny Scout not so little, is 'e?"

Since he'd gone into rut, Scout had become insatiable, even more than he already was. The faun, who generally needed to engage in some sort of sex with at least one other person every other day or two (but was usually gluttonous enough to seek it out more often), had now become an aggressive terror, starting fights and spitting vitriol without cause, surprising and upsetting himself in the few periods of lucidity his turbulent hormones were granting him. He needed sex more than ever, craved it constantly, and the rest of the team had deputized one another to see to his needs as much as possible to keep him as docile as they could. At least once a day, some hapless mercenary found himself the target of Scout's sexual requirements, pinned to the nearest surface, flat or not, prepared with as much care as the young man could muster with his body and mind fighting one another, and penetrated with ruthless abandon. He could sometimes have the tables turned, be overpowered, pinned, and taken instead, but with his speed and wiry strength, it was a difficult proposition. Far easier instead to let the faun spend himself out and flop on top of his sore partner, exhausted and sated, at which point the little terror would cuddle sleepily like nothing was unusual, which would be infuriating if it weren't so damned funny.

It was the dirty talk that Heavy couldn't stand.

He could overpower Scout with relative ease, but didn't even slightly mind taking what the oversexed American wanted to dish out. He did so for Medic often enough, though rarely with such a violent pace. But it was the stream of filth that poured from the faun's mouth that coloured what would otherwise be an intense and ecstatic experience. He spoke imperfectly, derogatorily, and while Heavy was used to being called dirty things in bed—certainly Medic had crooned that the enormous man was his precious "Schlampe" more than enough times—it did wear on him when Scout described the act as he was doing it, his poor vocabulary obvious, filled with rhetorical questions. Most aggravating was how it always sounded like he was trying to goad him into a fight mid-coitus, which, to be honest, seemed exactly like what Scout would have preferred.

He would give him satisfaction, but not that satisfaction. Instead, Heavy slipped one hand beneath himself, between his thighs, and began to stroke, shutting out the younger man's ramblings.

Medic was so much better at purring out invectives in bed. The fact that Heavy was usually collared and tied while he was doing it probably helped immensely.

Heavy wished Medic were there, at least to croon his approval and appreciation. Perhaps to take his mouth and muffle the ignoble noises he produced in the wake of Scout's wicked rutting. He breathed deep, shutting out all noise but the heavy thwaps of the faun's furry hips meeting his own, the slightly delayed, softer sound of his balls slapping the giant's taint a moment behind. He concentrated on the burn of the stretch, the jarring jolts of pure pleasure shooting through him with each lancing blow to his prostate, the pit of tension and heat in his gut and the ache in his groin as he neared completion.

Hot breath on his back picking up power, the muffled sound of words dying away as Scout's hips picked up their pace to breakneck speeds told the half-jotun that his partner wasn't far behind him.

"Nnnnnnnngh, fuck," Scout gasped, his voice wobbling with the force of their flesh slapping.

"Finally out of words?" Heavy teased, lifting his head from the pillow long enough to speak, then bowing down to grind his forehead against the ratty mattress.

"Shut up!" the faun barked with a snarl, followed by a final slam and Scout squeezing the hell out of him, letting out a cervine bellow as he filled the Russian with his seed in larger-than-human volumes, shuddering with each fresh throb of his cock within the warm tightness of Heavy's ass.

It sent Heavy over the edge, tugging himself to orgasm, his hand and the scraps of sheets and mattress catching his release amid a hoarse whine so small the giant wasn't sure it could've been his own.

Both men slumped to the mattress, gulping down air as they came down from their high. True to form, Scout slipped out of the giant and began to nuzzle in at the soft hairs of his shoulder blade. It wrenched a soft laugh from Heavy, who slapped idly at his side until he reached part of Scout and bade him to come closer.

Scout obeyed happily, slipping off of the Russian's back, to let him roll onto his side and welcome him back into his space. He slotted himself in close against Heavy's body, tangling their legs and throwing one slim arm around his soft middle. He nosed into the thicket of soft, dark hair at the centre of the giant's chest and inhaled deeply, taking in his scent. Heavy always smelled amazing, even sweaty and sticky with his own come.

"You smell real good," the faun murmured, sighing contentedly.

Heavy chuckled a bit. The difference between dominant, rutting Scout and sated, cuddly Scout was strangely endearing, and it warmed his heart as the turbulent youth settled comfortably in his arms. Dodging his antlers, he leaned down to press a kiss to the little man's head, his hair baby-soft against the giant's lips. "Spacibo. You are alright?"

"Yeah, I'm—I'm good. Thanks, man. I'm real sorry about all this."

"Stop with apologising. Not for things you cannot control. It is not like you."

"Well this ain't like me."

Heavy laid a large hand on the faun's back and rubbed slow circles, feeling him practically melt at the touch. "I think _this_ is very like you."

Scout smiled in spite of himself, sniffling a little as he nosed into the big man's warm chest. He wished that he wouldn't be back to awful so soon, afforded the time to relax and snuggle with his giant friend. He was always so sweet, so understanding, and with a soft sigh, the faun let himself relax for what little time he could, enjoying the warmth and safety of Heavy's embrace.

"Thanks, big guy."

 

*

 

"Very like me," Scout breathed, stepping out of Heavy and Medic's quarters and leaving the door closed behind him. The half-jotun had taken to napping, and while it had been pleasant, Scout soon found himself too restless to remain in the giant's arms.

Though that wasn't entirely accurate, was it? He was still relaxed, still satisfied, and his mind still free of the simmering heat and haze that would soon return to it. His head wasn't clear—far from it—but at least the rut had calmed for a bit.

That had been a blessing, and hopefully a trend for the better. The period of ease after orgasm, when Scout felt somewhat like himself again, had grown longer over the past few days, leaving him less likely to jump from bed to bed for fear of picking a fight or causing property damage. Scout hoped it was a sign of an approaching end to the rut, though a niggling voice at the back of his thoughts told him it would never go away. He would always be an animal, in heat and in hate, hurting and using the people he cared most about for his own carnal needs—

Gritting his teeth, Scout slumped against the door, his legs yet unwilling to take him away. He reconsidered leaving, suddenly so very much needing the Russian's warm arms and warmer smile, and the safety and comfort it brought him.

He took a deep breath, head tilting back until antlers ticked against the door. He thought of Heavy's lips on his, on his neck, hands on his body, soft and sweet. He was so powerful, but he could be so gentle, and after sex, held him like he would shatter if he wasn't careful.

Scout wondered if he just might.

It was something he always enjoyed about Heavy, that regardless of the speed and intensity of their sexual thrills, he would grant Scout the same sweet treatment that the faun had seen him give Medic, his lover, so often. Even now, he was as welcoming as ever, in spite of everything.

With a deep breath, Scout let his thoughts linger there, on the warm safety of the giant man's arms, and the bed he so often shared with him and his Medic. He wanted to go back in. He wanted to turn on his toe and slip back into bed, into Heavy's arms, and try to calm the rising heat in his limbs by dispersing it in the warmth of the Russian's embrace. He ached to nose into his chest and press kisses to his fuzzy flesh, to smile and cuddle and maybe, for a second, Scout could pretend that he was worth a damn. But he'd gotten up. He'd felt the energy and listlessness return, and if he went back, he chanced just using Heavy more. He couldn't do that. Not right now. He wouldn't risk what he might do.

Besides, would it even be genuine? The sweet affection, the comfort and closeness, was probably just a manifestation of his animal needs, because that's all he was now. Lying by his side, returning the massive man's affectionate gestures, would it be couched in lust and domination? What was even his own emotion anymore? Was anything truly his, uncoloured by the beast that controlled him?

It couldn't be anything else but cervine ardor when he felt himself warmed and held close to the big man's fuzzy skin, stubble-rimmed lips brushing his own, bodies intertwined with Medic at his other side, pressing kisses into the hairline at the base of his skull, holding their bodies close, smiling against his skin and complimenting him in gentle German. They had always been so sweet with him before the rut, gentle and kind, and it brought a flutter to his chest at the memory of sweet nights in the older couple's bed. They both brought him comfort, happiness. Maybe even a little peace.

It wasn't. It was satiety. Camaraderie and intimacy were beyond him, an animal in half-human skin. The others, almost all of them weren't human, but not a damn one of them didn't have a handle on himself. Not a damn one of them had lost themselves. Even Demoman, the freakin' _werewolf_ , was a man, a real person, most of the time, and even on the full moon, he would never mistreat Sniper.

Scout smiled a little at the thought of his best mate and his mate's _mate_ , and the nights the three of them had spent together, laughing and teasing one another between sloppy kisses and hilariously-placed hickeys. They'd rib one another between lazy gropes and long, rambling conversations full of stories and asides. He recalled one night in particular when, after sharing Scout between them, a wild idea popped into Demoman's mind. He'd sluggishly dragged himself from the bed, leaving Scout and Sniper to smooch as he rooted through his desk across the room. When he'd returned, they'd flipped the faun on his belly and he could feel soft tickles on his shoulders and upper back. It turns out they had taken to connecting his more prominent freckles with marker lines, drawing shapes along his sun-kissed skin, ending with more than a few hearts and surprisingly only one crudely doodled penis.

They were such immense goofballs, inviting him into their space even when their relationship was so new, so fresh from its dramatic beginning, from the heartache that they'd inflicted upon themselves leading up to its creation. Never once had they made him feel like he was intruding.

He could almost pretend that he wasn't.

Scout recalled one time he actually had Spy's undivided attention, listening to stories of teenage drinking hijinks. They hadn't made it out of the smoking room, the rogue having been attempting to teach him how to drink some of the more sophisticated spirits, not the sort the young man had spent his youth wincing through downing or diluting with mixers to make them palatable as he chased the wobbly low of drunkenness. Spy had taught his teammate how to appreciate their subtlety and taste, how to cut the burn or mitigate it in order to reach the flavours beyond, and how to condition his tongue to sense them. It had taken time, and soon both of them were tipsy, snickering and sharing kisses by the fire.

Before they'd known it, they'd dragged the cushions from all of the furniture to the floor, along with a few pillows and a throw Spy had tucked away for drafty evenings. They'd whiled away the evening, the kitsune in disguise snorting as Scout divulged embarrassing tales of bravado and folly from years not long past, grinning like an idiot as he recalled the one time a rowdy night had seen him accidentally attracting the attention of a police car as he and some of his brothers drove past, seated on the sills of their open windows. It had been on a dare from a cute boy and his cuter sister, and he soon found himself sitting in the drunk tank, listening to his oldest brother wincing as he made his phone call, which consisted largely of their Ma verbally obliterating her offspring.

Spy had offered a story in return about being literally thrown out of a sake bar in Osaka for insulting the wrong baseball team in earshot of the bartender. What had the faun cackling was when his friend described that somehow, for all of his years of training in observation and reading people, he somehow hadn't noticed the sheer amount of merchandise bearing the logo and name of the Hanshin Tigers all over the little establishment. This included there being a small television behind the bar that was showing a Tigers game in progress.

It had baffled Scout how much Spy was willing to offer him in terms of tales of his life. Whether they were fabricated or not, he'd likely never know, but the fact that he was willing to give him any stories to cling to, some bit of himself, had been a strange, intimate thing for the normally private man. Certainly, he'd been surprised that he knew anything about baseball, even if it was Japanese baseball. Though knowing his nature now, it stood to reason, didn't it?

A lot of their conversations had been a boozy blur, but somehow that story, that connection, stuck with him, even after the night had progressed to Spy doing shots of ludicrously expensive bourbon out of Scout's navel.

He remembered riding on Soldier's back as they rocket-jumped to the top of the base's water tower and somehow turned mooning the RED base from the catwalk into a dirty romp in the late-day sun. It had been hilarious to them once they'd attracted the other team's attention, but the red laser dot that had fixed itself on Soldier's throat had been enough to dissuade them from continuing, and once safely tucked away in the silos at the other end of the catwalk, they'd melted back into kisses and touches, chuckles curling their lips into smiles against one another.

Then there was Pyro, who would colour the drawings he did in pen, laughing with him as they created art out of ludicrous situations, perhaps more than a few of them unflattering to their teammates.

There was even the one time Engineer—

"Heya, Scout?"

Engineer.

Scout let a long breath out of his nostrils, the rosy thoughts that made his insides flip turning dark, his stomach no longer full of butterflies but knotting itself up like he'd been punched. His eyes opened to see the Texan approaching, a smallish toolbox under one arm and a smile full of trepidation upon his face.

The faun had avoided him ever since he found out about Pyro, the djinni no longer concerned about hiding his identity on base during off hours. While it had sparked some jokes about how long it would take Sniper to proposition the flame-bodied arsonist, Pyro and Engineer had mentioned their intent to keep to themselves and make up for lost time, though the firebug had joked that Sniper shouldn't look so disappointed. Maybe after a little while, they could have a double date.

Scout had been surprised, and amazed, and more than a little curious about Pyro, but couldn't muster the energy to do much about it. Not because of the firebug's reveal, but because of what it meant with Engineer.

So he could date a guy who was literally made of fire, but Scout being a faun was just too much? Suddenly he was cool with monsters? Yeah, they were dating, but what did that mean Scout was? Just a fucktoy to be discarded when he didn't suit the Texan's whims anymore? Nothing else? Not even enough of a friend to deserve any sort of deference?

"Whaddaya want? I ain't in the mood," Scout grumbled in reply, brows furrowed, mood darkened immediately. He crossed his arms tightly over his bare chest, making his tags jingle.

"I, uh, I been meanin' to talk to you," the Texan stammered, coming to a halt just close enough to stay out of Scout's personal space. "But you been kinda scarce, lately. I mean, when you ain't been in bed with folk."

"I ain't been scarce, I just ain't been around you," the faun corrected with a scowl.

Engineer swallowed hard. He deserved that. "Look, I wanna talk. About—about us. About Pyro. About all this mess I made."

"What's to talk about? I'm some kinda ruttin' animal in heat. Totally different from a guy made outta literal fire, right? It ain't monsters that fucks with you. It's just me. 'Cause I'm some kinda fucked up weird deer thing what can't control myself, right?"

"Scout, I—"

Scout pushed off of the door, stalking away from Engineer, down the hall. The last thing he wanted was to wake Heavy up because of the Texan. "Tell me I'm wrong!"

"You're wrong," came Engineer's reply, firmly, stepping quickly to keep up. "It ain't 'cause you're a faun, son. You're a faerie. You ain't an animal; you're a man. I get that, and I'm a damn fool for ever actin' like I didn't."

"And?" the faun growled.

"I didn't even realize why it bothered me so much, and why you blowin' me didn't really give me so many problems at first, but then I realized what it was that made me have those stupid thoughts! It was the noises you make."

Coming to an abrupt halt, Scout turned to face Engineer, his jaw jutting out as he chewed at his cheek. "The noises I make." It wasn't a question, really.

"In bed, you make all of those sounds. The bellows 'n such. I didn't even realize it, but that's what set me off. I was bein' a damned fool because those sounds put those memories of huntin' into my head. And I know that ain't no excuse. 'Cause it ain't. But it's a reason. And that reason ain't your fault, Scout. It's mine."

"So I sound like a deer in bed."

"Scout, that's—"

"No, that's exactly what you said. What, you think explainin' exactly what disgusts you'll make it all better suddenly?"

"I never said you disgust me—"

"You didn't _have to say_ it!"

Engineer stared at Scout, the faun glaring him down. His eyes, blue as a clear sky, were wet and shining, and his fists were clenched at his sides. He took a breath, knowing he was pressing his luck. It was entirely possible Scout would launch at him and try to kill him with his bare hands.

And lord, did Scout want to.

"I'm sorry," the Texan sighed, defeated. "You can believe it if you want or not. But I mean it. I'm sorry. I ain't treated you right, and I didn't realize what I was doin' to you by it."

"You ain't done nothin' to me."

"Figured you'd say as much, but regardless. For what it means, I was wrong as I've ever been. And you deserve a lot better'n what I gave you. You're my friend, and I ain't been actin' like it."

"Oh, I am? Huh. Didn't realize. News to me," the faun dismissed, turning on a sharp hoof to leave, his voice wobbling in spite of the cold indifference he was trying to coat it with.

Engineer jawed at the air a moment, at a loss for what to say. He could only watch as Scout left, continuing on his way to the stairwell, and disappeared through its doors. The Texan slumped, defeated. "Good one, Conagher."


	2. Chapter 2

The punching bag swung, wobbling back and forth in girthy defiance, taunting him, teasing him. With a curse, Scout lashed out, fist hooking into its side, for what would be a kidney, ramming knuckles into the heavy gym equipment with swift violence. He'd made a beeline for the on-base gym, the hot ache in his muscles making him tense, the haze of rut boiling his brain as he burned. He let fly with a few jabs, a cross, and when he got the thing to finally swing, lifted his knee to crash high into it, digging it into his hypothetical opponent's solar plexus. Chains held the bag suspended, anchored to the underside of the gym's balcony track, and they jingled as it wobbled back and forth. Better to do this, unleashing his ire, freshly risen by the blunt words of Engineer, than to let that ache and anger sink into his groin. He flexed his fingers, uncurling and re-curling his fists, focusing his aggression on the bag, hoping it would provide the outlet he needed to distract him from the feral urge to go find and rage-fuck yet another of his unfortunate teammates.

 

_Spy gripped the sheets, his knuckles white, drool running down his chin as he ground his cheek into the bed. He clenched his eyes tight, voice hoarse as he cursed and shook. His tails arched up and out of Scout's way, curving over his back and tickling at his own shoulder, his fur fluffed up in the throes of alarm. Scout was putting it to him viciously, and though he was enjoying himself, he wasn't sure how much more he could handle before it became too much. Certainly, his chatter was too much._

_"Fluffy fuckin' cute tails, I wanna grab 'em an' yank 'em an' make you scream. Bet I can make you scream just like this. Scream for me. Scream. I wanna hear my name, Foxy. Scream it for me."_

_Biting back the urge to acquiesce, Spy swore at him in French instead, what little dignity he maintained with his ass in the air more important than shutting Scout up._

 

With a hop backward, the faun left space for the bag to move, and he shifted from hoof to hoof, bouncing a bit. He remembered a time when he'd be able to bring his shin up to kick the bag super hard, make it really jangle as it swung in loose circles. Now, the best he could manage was a knee. It gnawed at him, and he worried at his lip with buck teeth.

The thing was, he liked being a faun. Surprisingly, after he settled in and figured it out, he liked it. His legs were stronger than they'd ever been. He was faster than he'd ever been, and could bound to greater heights than his old feet could ever touch. He had a head-mounted weapon, and greater senses than he'd ever experienced. Plus, sex, a fond pastime of his, had become a mind-blowingly intense experience that could never compare to what he'd felt before, and it found him in the arms and beds of his friends with a frequency that had become comfortable in its familiarity.

And he had to admit, the furry butt and tail were cute as hell. He'd admired himself in the mirror enough times to know that one.

But those legs came with a price. They didn't move the same, and it was hard to figure out how to do certain things. His hooves were sharp, and he had to be careful how he stepped, and where. Playing footsie was an exercise in not stabbing a lover with a dewclaw, now. He was constantly aware of where his head was, because he had to be sure not to catch his antlers on anything, or hurt anyone he wasn't trying to. Even the sex had a second edge, leaving him thirsting for it like water in the desert, needing it to live and not feel like utter crap.

He did still have a really cute butt, though.

Scout's tail wagged as he let his mind linger on that thought, and he idly wondered if deer did that, or if it was just him. His ma did always say he reminded her of an excited puppy—

 

_"You call that fuckin'? You piece 'a shit, I said fuck my ass!" Scout barked, his neck stiff and aching as his shoulders pressed uncomfortably into the concrete wall of the locker room. He was folded in half, knees on either side of his head, shoulder blades digging into the hard floor as his head was forced forward by antlers pressed against the wall._

_"Shut up you little mongrel," Sniper snapped, grinning, having his fun as he ignored the stabbing pain of his knees on concrete to buck into Scout's ass, his own pants shimmied down just enough to allow him access, while the faun's had already been lost. He could feel Scout's tail smacking his thighs as it wagged excitedly. The final bell of work had just rung maybe five minutes before._

_"I'll shut up when you nut up!"_

_The rest of the team chuckled as they passed by them on their way to the showers, shaking the heads in pity as Sniper redoubled his efforts._

 

With a snarl, Scout launched back at the bag, battering it with sore fists. He whaled on the heavy leather sack, hissing breaths on each swing like Heavy would do, making each blow count, his hands up to guard between shots. Dancing about on his hooves, he juked and ducked, avoiding imaginary punches to dodge between and land an uppercut into the bag.

He stepped back, hopping from hoof to hoof again, too much energy coursing through him. He was sick of this stupid rut. He was sick of being a faerie if it meant that he was just enough of an animal that he wasn't much of a person right now. He wasn't himself, and it burned.

Scout had never been a peaceful, complacent man. He had a demeanor that some had referred to as "excitable" or "hyperactive" or "cocky" or "argumentative" or that of "a little shit who needs his fukken ass beat." And while he couldn't say he'd never fit those descriptions, he wasn't a dick. And rut was making him into a complete and utter dick.

He'd not just needed sex. He'd had to demand it. Not because he was being denied it, but because he _required it_. He had to have it, or he'd go mental, too much aggression making his legs ache and his shoulders tremble with potential energy, ready to release in violent bursts. He wanted to fight everything, and he wanted to fuck everything, and God bless the team for understanding it and tolerating him. Humouring him, even. He'd taken all but Engineer and Pyro, at least one a day, since the beginning of the month, and as weeks passed, he wondered if he'd be left alone on base over Thanksgiving, pissed off, full of energy with nowhere to direct it, and starving.

Demoman had said it would last a month at maximum. Less if they kept him well-fucked. They'd certainly done that. So why the hell did he still want to grab the nearest person by the jaw and rip the damn thing off their head?

 

_"Doc, when I get outta this I'm gonna get my gun an' make some new holes in you just to fuck!" Writhing and thrashing, Scout spat and hurled words at the dispassionate doctor who had lured him to his infirmary for the promise of a romp. It had all seemed like a good idea right up until he found himself strapped down to the examination table, his legs in a modified pair of stirrups, the doctor's gloved fingers stretching his hole with a healthy amount of lube._

_"Do not complain so much, I am giving you what you want."_

_"I wanted to bend you over this thing and fuck you."_

_"Well you are bent over, on this thing, und sex is being had. Is that not enough?"_

_Scout snarled in reply._

_"I can stop, if you want. We do not have to do this. I can unstrap you und let you go, or I can finish opening you und schtup you until you are a panting mess. Your choice."_

_Chewing at his lip with a scowl, Scout turned his gaze away from the doctor. "Keep goin'."_

_"I had a feeling you would say that."_

 

The leather bag gave in a satisfying way as his knuckles pounded at it, Scout's punches growing less focused, less deliberate. He was giving up the illusion of practice, of training, of discipline in working on his unarmed combat skills to centre himself. He attacked the heavy bag with blows that dragged grunts from him, his control slipping from him with each impact.

He wanted to laugh and relax, shoot the shit, and hang out with the guys again. He didn't want every time he came around to be the moment the team shut up and sat on edge, waiting for something to set him off in one direction or the other. He was sick of the terrified looks the RED team gave him on the battlefield, because in their eyes, he didn't see the fear of an enemy combatant. He saw the horror of being hunted by a monster.

And that's what he'd become. He already wasn't human, but now he actually was a monster.

The faun turned, kicking a leg out at the punching bag and watching it swing harder than any of his punches had caused. On its return, he batted at it again with another strong mule kick, and when he turned to look, he saw a hole in the leather, slowly leaking sand onto the floor. His hoof had torn it there, and in that moment, he saw red.

Engineer had been right. It didn't matter if he apologised, for all that it did. It didn't matter if he said he was wrong, that he'd been stubborn and foolish or whatever. Stupid asshole'd still been right. He was an animal. He should be stuffed and mounted on the wall, or thrown in a cage, not allowed near the others. He wasn't like them. He wasn't like the Doc, or Soldier, or Heavy. He couldn't control himself. He was less than the person he'd been, all rage and instinct and barks and bellows. Of course Engineer didn't want to touch him. He was just an upright animal, not some beautiful creature made of fire like Pyro. He would fight, fuck, and rut, and make awful deer noises during all of it, because that's what he really was.

Before he was aware of it, he made contact with the bag, antlers tearing into it, his full body's weight and momentum slamming into it and ripping the leather where the chains joined it. He tore the punching bag from its supports, driving it to the ground, filled with holes and hemorrhaging sand. He straddled the thing, ripping antlers from it to scream to the ceiling in his fury, human and hateful and filled with frustration. He beat at the sack, raining down blows, sand spraying about in the wake of each strike. He didn't care. He could barely tell what he was doing anymore. He missed his life, his mind, his body, his friends, his family.

How in the hell would he tell his Ma he wasn't coming home because it was mating season? How would he tell his brothers? His nieces and nephews?

Scout doubled over, scrubbing at his face with his palms. His knuckles were split, bleeding beneath the tape protecting them, and he could dimly feel warm trails seeping through the sticky wraps, running down his hands and wrists.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he muttered to himself, breath hitching as he gulped back tears, "I'm a fuckin' mess."


	3. Chapter 3

"Little Scout?"

Heavy's voice echoed through the gym's wide open space, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights carrying over the barest whisper of a sob. The giant tugged open the heavy metal double-doors to the gym, one of two sets, and strode in, casting chilly blue eyes about the room. He rounded the ring that sat at the center of the room, sparing looks up at the balcony that circled the space to form a running track, a frequent haunt of his youngest teammate. "Scout? You did not come to dinner. We are worri—oh no." He froze as his gaze locked upon the crumpled form of his faun friend, perched atop a gutted punching bag and the mound of sand it once contained.

He looked so small, doubled over, his shoulders hunched, fists balled up tightly around handfuls of sand. In that quiet moment, it broke the giant's heart to see the young man's muscles twitch as he bit back his own emotions. Heavy's voice came out in a gentle coo as he stepped closer, kneeling beside his friend, the young man's once-teasing appellation spoken with affection befitting the diminutive nickname it had become, "Little Scout?"

"Go away," Scout grunted, facing away from Heavy and trying to ignore the warm hand on his bare shoulder. His skin tingled beneath it, and it made him grow hot all over. He wasn't sure if it was shame or just the rut gearing up to tell him it was dinner time.

"Nyet. Tell Heavy what is wrong, little Scout." He wasn't hurt, at least not physically aside from blood seeping from his knuckles, which looked more than a little painful, sand caking on the wet tape.

"Fuck off!" the faun growled, but there were no teeth behind it. He was tired. And cold. He felt stretched and hollow, the pit of his stomach an empty yawning chasm that made his body ache with its size, too big for him to contain. He clambered off of the bag, onto the sandy floor beside it, and curled up between it and the wall, facing away from his enormous teammate. He didn't want Heavy's pity, nor his attention. He didn't want to do anything but lay in the mess he'd made, the stinging prickle of sand in his cuts his punishment for letting the rut work him up again. He didn't want to end up trying to hurt his friend or take advantage of him yet another time.

"Nyet. Am not going anywhere, little Scout. Why are you lying in broken heavy bag? Why did you not come to dinner? Tell Heavy what is wrong," he repeated, imploring his friend. He leaned in, putting his hand back on the smaller man's shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Please. Talk to me."

Scout snorted, stubborn, aching to spill everything out but too proud to let it go.

"You talk so much to fill silence and only sometimes _say_ things. But now when you need to say things, you will not _talk_." Heavy sat down on his hip beside Scout, trousers crunching against the sand. "When you do not talk it says things."

"You're talkin' in circles."

"Learned from you. Have not seen you like this in long time. Am thinking you have been angry," the giant said, sifting sand through his fingers.

"That's an understatement."

"Is it the rut? Did it make you break the bag?"

"I didn't mean to."

"Is not problem. Can replace bag." Heavy tugged on Scout, rolling him onto his back with less effort than he'd expected. The gangly faun was pliant to his touch. He looked down into the smaller man's eyes, which were just a little bit puffy, recovering from tears.

"Sorry."

"Do not be. Bag is not problem, tiny Scout. This rut is making you not yourself, da?"

Scout huffed, his face turning to look away from Heavy, antlers dragging through sand. "I'll say that. I ain't me. Not anymore. I ain't been me for a while now." He moved to roll back onto his side, dragging his legs up to curl in on himself. Heavy wouldn't let him, hand firm on the smaller man's shoulder, holding him tight. He sighed in frustration. Heavy wasn't going to let this go.

Heavy frowned. "You are talking about being faun."

"Yeah. I guess. I dunno."

"What do you know?"

Chewing on that thought for a moment, Scout licked his lip. "I know I ain't even barely a person anymore."

"Why do you think this?"

"It's like Engie said. Lookit me! I've got hooves, an' fur, an' antlers! I make all kinda weird sounds!"

"Engineer was wrong. Was wrong of him to think like this. You are still Scout."

"I'm an animal, man! I'm in freakin' heat! I'm pissed off an' horny an' I just wanna stop but I can't!"

"It will pass," Heavy assured him, his giant hand tracing a soft line up to the young man's chin and taking light hold of it between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger, petting at him. "You are not animal. You are man. You are still Scout."

"But this rut—"

"Little Scout is a man," Heavy corrected, sternly. "Is not animal. You are not deer. Deer do not talk. Deer do not play baseball. Deer do not kill babymen with scattergun and metal bat. And deer do not make best pancakes in New Mexico. You are not animal, because you are Scout." His brows furrowed with the worry of a man who knew he couldn't express himself the way he wanted. He wished his English were better, or that Scout knew more than the bare basics he'd taught him of Russian.

"I don't feel much like Scout."

Heavy ran a broad hand along the younger man's side, slipping from warm skin to soft fur and petting at his flank. "Feel like Scout to me."

"Not what I meant, big guy."

"I know this. But I also know you are smiling."

It was true. In spite of himself, Heavy's joke had brought a slight smirk to his lips.

"Am not so good with words in English, but listen to me. You think you are something you are not. You are young, handsome man. You love the sports, and eat tacos like inhaling breath. You draw best of any man I have known, have beautiful singing voice, and talk too much. You are youngest of eight, raised by just mama. You are mercenary. This is not what a deer is; it is what Scout is. What you are."

"I—" the faun's breath caught, his chest tight, his eyes burning. His words were clumsy, but his meaning was heartfelt, and possibly exactly what Scout needed to hear. Lord knew it meant the world to him. "Thanks, big guy. For real."

Heavy sighed through a warm smile. Enormous fingers sifted through the smaller man's short hair. It was growing out a little, Scout having been unable to get it properly cut since the rut had begun. But it was so soft, and Heavy felt the touch was almost wasted on his calloused flesh. "Am sorry you have to go through these things."

"Don't be sorry," came Scout's mumble, his gaze cast aside again, his slim body shifting in the sand.

"Am, though. You did not have choice in any of these things. Doktor turned himself into garuda. Engineer is building himself into machine-man. Demoman, Spy, Pyro, and Heavy, we are all born this way. You were made into faun. You did not ask for this, did not cause it yourself. You had this put on you. You were forced to be something new, and had chance of choice taken from you."

It was true. While almost the whole rest of the team had either grown up with or enacted their changes themselves, Scout had been the only one to have his monstrous nature pressed upon him without his consent nor his approval. Things were different for him. It wasn't a pleasant surprise or something he'd known his whole life. Everything was new and wrong.

"You have to learn everything for yourself, all at once, and is not fair. You do not have parents who know what is like, how to help you understand it. You only have team to guide you, and we can imagine, but cannot understand what is like to do so much on your own," the giant continued, his thumb tracing a feather-light trail along the faun's pointed ear. "But we are still here for you."

Scout looked up to Heavy, eyes wide. He'd never considered before just how isolated he'd been in his experience. Sure, like Heavy said, they were there for him, but it was true. He'd been essentially trying to figure things out on the fly for the past five months. "You...you been thinkin' about this?"

Scout looked so weak, so small, so unlike his bright, bombastic self. He looked scared, wounded, but full of such sudden hope it was like this was the first time someone had ever given him the deference of thinking about him when he wasn't in their immediate span of attention. Heavy shifted to sit on his bottom, crossing his legs loosely under himself, and without warning, lifted Scout, scooping him into his lap. The faun yelped in surprise, but didn't fight him, though a pinkness rose to his cheeks that the giant couldn't help but find a little cute.

"Of course I think about you," the giant replied, holding him close and letting the younger man settle in, less willing to fight him away and close himself off than he'd feared. Scout was like that. He'd never come out and say it when he needed you, but it was obvious when he did. Heavy knew it well, having helped raise his sister Zhanna, who was similarly stubborn. But Scout wasn't like his sisters. Scout wasn't like a sibling, though he was a brother in arms. He'd long since become a different sort of important to Heavy, to the team, and he smiled softly as he scratched at the hair behind the faun's pointed ear. "You are important, tiny Scout."

Important. Scout had never been important. Useful, maybe. Enjoyable, probably. But important?

Important sounded nice.

"Whole team cares, wants to help. Know things are not good and very hard for you, but we help how we can because is not your fault what is happening."

"But the rut makes me different all over. I ain't just shaped different now. I ain't me. This ain't what I'm like. I'm a different person, man! I been an asshole to everybody! I been a creep, sayin' shit even I'd never say." Disgust nearly dripped from Scout's tongue as his words spilled over it, revulsion knotting his stomach. How could it not be his fault? He'd been the one doing it all! "I been gross, an' rough, an' you guys've been bearin' the brunt of it like champions 'cause I'm suddenly a natural douchebag 'cause I'm goin' through deer puberty or some shit."

"Yet you are here. You are not different person; you are Scout, telling me how you feel. So you are you. The rut is like blanket on top, scratchy and rough, but it does not make the man under it less warm or soft," the giant cooed, letting his thumb rub at the faun's cheek gently. "Blanket can come off, and it will, and you will be okay. And we will be okay."

"I wanna believe that, but after what I done to you guys, how can you look at me?"

Heavy took a moment to choose the right word, making sure it was the one he needed. "With fondness." A huge hand slipped beneath Scout's chin, tipping it up for the two to look eye to eye, for the faun to see the warm smile on his friend's handsome face. "Because you are one of us."

And that had done it. With a look on his face that was more grimace than smile, Scout's eyes welled with tears. He hated letting people see him cry, and he didn't like to let it happen much, his macho image in desperate need of constant upkeep, but here, in Heavy's arms, it didn't matter. He threw his arms around the half-jotun and buried his face in the soft cotton of his azure t-shirt, the warmth of his broad chest, and bit back a sob, letting it come out in quiet sniffles instead.

"I still gotta live with the shit I said to you guys." Scout pressed his forehead to Heavy's collarbone, his voice wobbly and unsteady. "I tried to fuck Demo's eye socket, man. I told Soldier I was gonna fuck 'im so deep he'd be coughing up my jizz. How the fuck do you look at someone you said that to an' not remember what a piece 'a shit you are?"

"Because you instead know that it did not matter to them, and that you are not piece of shit, but man they care enough to take you at your worst and still want to help," the giant soothed, rubbing slow circles on Scout's bare back, dusting off the sand that still clung to his freckled skin.

"Here I always thought you guys just put up with me," the faun laughed bitterly, quietly.

"Is not possible. Little Scout is impossible to put up with," Heavy grinned, carefully nosing into the younger man's hair to press a kiss at the base of one antler. "So we must like you."

Scout smiled against the Russian's chest. "I just...you guys mean so much to me."

"You mean much to us too," Heavy soothed with a warm smile.

"It's—it's more'n you think, I think. You guys—I mean—I got so much goin' on an' I don't even begin to know how to sort it out, yanno?"

"There is more? Tell Heavy what bothers you, little Scout. I am here for you."

The faun was quiet for a while, his breath hard, but steady, warm and slightly moist through Heavy's shirt, the regular motion of his massive hand tracing broad circles on his bare back giving him something to focus on. He squeezed the giant a bit. "I dunno if I should. It's stupid."

"Is bothering you, so is not stupid."

Scout sighed. Heavy was too freaking good at the whole protective nurturing thing, and it was making it hard not to smile wide and pepper him with kisses. His stomach drew in tight. He shouldn't say anything. It didn't matter how right he felt between Heavy and Medic, or Sniper and Demoman, or with Spy, or Soldier, or Pyro, and once upon a time, Engineer. It made no sense, but Scout couldn't shake it, and as Heavy urged him to lean back and look at him, he almost lost himself in the pale hues of the Siberian's eyes. "I dunno how to say it. It's like," he had to break eye contact, casting his gaze down to Heavy's shirt, "it's like whenever I'm with you, or the Doc, or you an' the Doc, it feels...right, yanno? Like I should be there, like I belong, and my chest gets tight an' my belly flip-flops an' I know what that is 'cause I been in relationships before."

"It feels right?" Heavy asked, unsure if he was understanding Scout's words properly. This was sounding less like an issue and more like a confession.

"Yeah. Right. Like when you an' the Doc are bein' all kissy face an' cutesy. Or when Demo an' Sniper won't stop holdin' hands an' makin' everyone gag. Or just everythin' about Engie an' Pyro. That gross kinda stupid happy that's all fuckin' sunshine an' puppies an' shit."

"You are saying..." This was a confession.

"But it's not just you two. 'Cause it feels right with Demo an' Sniper, an' it feels right with Soldier, an' Pyro, an' Spy. Maybe even Engie, I dunno now. But how the hell do I tell a guy that I'm in love with him, his boyfriend, and six other guys?"

Heavy's eyes went wide, and Scout went stiff, holding his breath, the words out there, unable to be taken back, his heart beating so fast he worried it would punch through his ribcage. Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Scout..." Heavy's tone was careful, measured, and the faun noticed that he didn't address him as Little Scout, or Tiny Scout, the pet names he'd always used for his friend. It sounded almost incomplete. "Why did you say nothing sooner?"

"What?"

"These feelings, how long?"

"Uh, I mean, I've always been attracted to you guys, but I dunno. Over time? I been spendin' so much time so much closer with you guys since Greece, I just. I got to see more 'a you. I got to be with you. An' with all 'a this other stuff, then I start feelin' this and... I know. I _know_ , I'm messed up."

That big hand returned to tilt Scout up to look Heavy in the eye again, a fond little half-smile on the Russian's lips. "You are not messed up. You are full of life. You feel so much more now, most of all in here, " he murmured, his fingers sliding down to press tips against the smaller man's chest, over his racing heart. "And it is beautiful."

Before Scout could choke out a reply, Heavy sealed their mouths in a kiss, lips moving with a gentleness that saw the faun melt into his embrace with a relieved whimper.

Those massive hands held him close, one upon his lower back, the other at the back of his head, cupping it almost completely and running his thumb just behind one ear. The sheer tenderness of his embrace, of those soft lips on his own conspired to make Scout practically melt against Heavy. He was treating him like the most fragile thing in the world, with careful touches and a quiet hum of contentment that seemed almost too small to have come from the enormous man. His sinewy arms slipped up around the giant's shoulders, one taped hand coming to rest against his shaven, stubbly head.

Their mouths moved together, parting slowly to allow tongues to dart out and collide, to trace lips and interrupt smiles, then sneak back in and allow them to close, pucker, breathe, and repeat. Fingers curled in hair, over stubble, rubbing along warm skin. Scout shifted to wrap his legs loosely around Heavy's hips, plunking his furry butt in the bigger man's lap, his tail curling up to wag lazily. He felt tense, thrumming full of energy, but for once, it was in a good way, and he couldn't keep his face from creasing into an expression of utter jubilation. When they parted lips for even a moment, he was nuzzling at the Russian's aquiline nose, pressing light pecks to his cheeks and chin, unable to cease his affectionate ministrations even if he wanted to.

Instead, he slipped one hand beneath the neck of Heavy's shirt, letting his fingertips dance through the soft hairs that coated his shoulders, laughing a little as the giant shivered exaggeratedly for his amusement. He gave Scout the same treatment, ghosting his digits over the hairless, freckled expanse of the faun's bare shoulders, drawing out a genuine flinch and chill, then kissing it away, warming him with his lips and love.

He was perfect. It was perfect, and Scout had serious doubts that he wasn't just asleep in the gutted punching bag, having blissful, lovely little dreams. It certainly felt real enough, and when Heavy pulled out of their kiss to grin and run a thumb across his jaw, Scout couldn't bring himself to care either way.

"Am sorry, did not mean to excite you," Heavy breathed, casting his eyes downward.

Scout's breath caught. "What?" Didn't mean to excite him? Had he misunderstood? A lump quickly began to form in his gut.

"I forget you are still...eh...easy?" He was unsure of his wording, but all the same, let a hand slide between them to pet at the erection the faun was now sporting, grasping its hot length loosely.

"Oh. Oh!" _Excite_ him. That's what he meant. How had he not even noticed that, or gotten more worked up? When the giant's hand began to stroke slowly up and down, however, it didn't really matter. "Ohh..."

"If you want," Heavy kissed Scout's cheek, "we make love."

Make love. The words make the faun's heart skip a beat, his whole body going stiff for a moment in joyful tension. "Oh my God."

"Is yes?"

"Yeah! Yeah, holy shit yeah!" Scout rejoined, peppering his lover with kisses.

"Horosho," Heavy replied with a grin. "But not here. Is too much sand. Is asking for bad things."

Scout looked down at the pile of sand they were still seated in, the grains clinging to his fur. "Oh, heh, yeah, good idea. So, where?"

Gathering the younger man into his arms, Heavy stood and stepped out of the sandy pile before setting him down on his hooves. He brushed himself off, trying to clear off as much sand as he could as Scout did the same, unwrapping his hands to be sure no stray grains would find their way to sensitive places. Once they were satisfied, Scout cast a few glances about, then looked expectantly to the larger man.

"Here," Heavy said simply, nodding for Scout to follow as he trundled over to the ring at the middle of the room, usually used for boxing, but padded for grappling. He lifted the bottom rope, a steel cable shod in vinyl and foam, allowing the faun easier access for his antlered head.

Scout climbed up, shimmying under the rope and into the ring, where he sat to watch as Heavy stripped off his shirt, tugging the azure cotton up over his head and shoulders to let it slip down his arms.

Pale skin rippled over bulky, thick muscle, a halo of soft dark hair coating most of his torso save his sides and back below the shoulder blades. His chest, soft with fat but hard with well-built pectorals, was densely covered with fluffy hair, and it leant the giant an air of cuddliness that Scout knew well was wholly accurate. His belly, more than just a paunch atop powerful core muscles, was soft and fuzzy, and hung over his belt just enough for the faun to want to press his face into it. Heavy dropped his shirt to the floor, stretching out his amazing arms and shoulders, then sucked in his gut to fiddle with his belt, quickly opening it and his fly to drop his trousers to the floor and kick his boots off with them. His boxers were next, the giant's waking erection beginning to poke through the hole at their front. Standing in a pool of his own clothing, his small-yet-strong legs flexing a bit in anticipation, he cast an excited glance to Scout, who was clearly ogling him. With a grin, he climbed onto the ring apron.

He rose to his feet and with one hand on the top rope and the other tucking up his balls, stepped over the ropes and into the ring, the padded canvas springy beneath his feet. He sank back to his knees beside Scout at the centre of the ring, reaching out to pull him back into another kiss.

"So, is this round one?" the faun asked with a breathless chuckle, hands seeking out Heavy's chest to pet through the soft hair there and circle up around his shoulders.

"Are not boxing. This is more like wrestling, da?" the giant replied, pressing a broad hand to Scout's chest and gently urging him to lay back on the mat, his cock standing proudly from his furry hips.

"That mean you're gonna pin me?"

"Is the idea." Heavy nosed into Scout's thigh, sifting into the silky fur there. He could never get over how _soft_ Scout was. His fur, ruddy brown with white spots along his hips and thighs, was downy to the touch. With the sensitive skin of his face, unburdened by scar tissue and callouses, the giant could appreciate just how wonderful he felt.

Heavy kissed a trail to the crook of Scout's thigh, where it joined his hip, and inhaled. Scout's scent was pleasant, a gentle musk and arousal mixed with the perfumed conditioner he always slathered himself with in the showers. It was a mix of masculine and just a slight touch not, but Heavy couldn't place that aroma. Was it coconut?

Scout arched his hips up against the Russian's face, a sigh escaping him as he buried his handsome face in his thigh, so close to his groin. He prickled with anticipation, and as he listened to the soft sniffles of Heavy smelling him, taking his scent in, appreciating his body with such deliberate study, a thrill shivered through him. An enormous hand ran up and down the length of his leg, from the near crux of his inner thigh, teasingly close, down to his knee, along the bulge of his short, powerful calf, and the sinew and bone of his foot. He stopped at Scout's hard hoof, the tip of his toe, and ran fingers carefully where fur met keratin.

"Does this tickle?" Heavy murmured, the vibration of his rumbling voice heading straight for the faun's balls.

"A little," Scout admitted, his toe twitching a bit.

"Will remember for later. Doktor may wish to know."

"You tell the Doc an' I take back everythin' I said, big guy."

Heavy grinned against the faun's hip. His hand returned, slowly, to Scout's thigh, kneading at the powerful, lean muscle there and enjoying the soft sounds of pleasure he drew from his lover. "Do you like this?"

"Oh God yes," Scout hissed, leaning up into the touch, letting Heavy feel his thigh flexing with his movements. The giant lifted his head, giving himself room to bring his other hand to Scout's opposing thigh and offer it the same treatment. He squeezed and played with him, spreading his legs as he massaged so agonizingly close to where the faun wanted his hands to be. Scout let out a proper moan, reaching up to try and grab at his lover's head, just far enough out of his reach to properly hold him. Instead, he just flopped there, one hand slipping up to press against his forehead and thread into his hair, the other groping at his own chest.

The giant's eyes were glued to the sight, Scout's eyes having fluttered closed, his buck teeth biting into his lip, pausing only to allow his tongue to dart out and lick them, breathy moans leaving him in long, drawn-out creaks of his voice as Heavy kneaded at his taut, strong gracilis and adductor muscles. His legs spread open, Scout lifted them, bent in the air above his body, allowing Heavy full access to whatever the hell he wanted. The young man was putty in his hands, and he had never been so gorgeous. Following the line of his slim, limber body down between those firm thighs, Heavy eyed the faun's cock, hard and growing a bit purple with newfound need. He hissed and gasped, quiet sounds of pleasure filling the air, but he was pliant, relaxed, and when his eyes rolled open to meet the giant's, completely enamoured.

Heavy bent his head and licked a stripe up the underside of Scout's cock.

Scout fairly barked at the sudden contact, jolting, bucking up to beg for more. He didn't need to, as Heavy was happy to provide, a barrage of smaller licks soon tracing every curve of his cock, teasing foreskin back, peeking beneath the crown, and lingering at the slit and the slight salt of precome already gathering there. He whined, hands coming up to grasp the backs of his own knees and free the giant's hands to paw at him properly, one wrapping around his base while the other teased at the pucker of his ass.

The sound was intoxicating, Scout's desperate, appreciative groans coming out with increasing volume and need. Heavy wrapped his lips around the faun's cock, his thumb rubbing at his balls as he began to run his tongue in matching circles against the little man's frenulum. The faun shivered, hips lifting, twitching, resisting the urge to buck, and instead pet at Heavy's head and murmured words of encouragement.

"So good, so _good_ , holy shit, big guy. You got a mouth like heaven. God, I'm gonna just _die_ ," he mumbled, lost in sensation as the hot, limber organ of the giant's tongue drew him higher and higher, eking out heat and sparks along his spine.

Heavy pulled off with a slight slurp, chuckling. "Do not die, Scout. Would make bad beginning to relationship."

"Relationshi—" Scout was cut off as Heavy took him deep, lips meeting the fur rimming the base of his cock. "Shhhhit!"

Pulling off, the giant pressed a kiss to the faun's tip. "Nyet, is not relationshit. Are sure you know English?" he teased.

"I ain't sure I know anythin' anymore."

"Are you sure about this?" Heavy asked, sitting up onto his knees and taking hold of the younger man's hips. He dragged him in close, wrapping the faun's legs around his waist when their bodies met. He could feel the heat pouring off of the spit-slick skin of Scout's cock, and as he leaned in, he met it with his own.

"Definitely," the faun breathed, biting his lip.

"Me too." Heavy wrapped one huge hand around them both, squeezing the warm flesh of their arousal together, his balls resting gently atop the faun's. With slow rolls of his hips, he began to move his hand in time, stroking them both.

Scout stretched, writhing and sighing his pleasure in quiet groans as Heavy ground them together, the half-jotun's weight comforting as he bore down on his body, sandwiching his hand between them so that his thrusts would do the work. Stubbly lips pressed to his neck, smooching a trail from collarbone to jaw, and jaw to mouth, capturing him in a tender kiss broken quickly by their hurrying breaths. They made up for it with staccato pecks after each pant, tongues poking out to taste and tease when they could.

They rocked together, the canvas of the ring scratching a bit at Scout's shoulders, the soft padding beneath providing a comfortable sort of traction as they bucked into Heavy's hand, heat and pleasure building with each pass of hot flesh. They smiled, they laughed, they locked eyes for long moments before their faces would contort with pleasure enough to force them to look away, and then they'd do it all again.

Scout gripped Heavy's shoulders, his thighs squeezing at his waist, his tail practically slapping the ring with each wag as the giant thrust against him. One arm curled underneath the faun, lifting his haunches as the Russian leaned forward on one elbow, his pace speeding. Light shivers spread through their limbs, heat and energy and ecstasy rising and coursing like blood through them, climbing their spines.

Heavy was so hard, so hot, and Scout could feel it all against him. The lip of his head catching him, foreskin shifting, the throb of his pulse running through his engorged cock, it was all outlined starkly in distinct sensations to the faun, felt in feverish clarity and overwhelming intensity. The drag of his belly, coated in soft hair, against his own hairless torso made Scout dizzy. Those strong hands touching him, the rough scratch of stubble feeding the growing inferno of his arousal and ardor, making white blot across his vision. He squirmed, arching and bucking against his massive lover, his moans coming in strangled whines.

"Heavy, I'm gonna—"

"Ya tozhe," the giant rumbled, his breath hot against the shell of Scout's ear.

And it was enough. Scout dug his fingers into the thick muscle of Heavy's shoulders, tugging him close with the force of his climax. He cried out, his voice a throaty bellow twisted into half-finished curses. The bright blaze of his body's utter undoing crackled and devoured him, sending him into paroxysms beneath his enormous lover. Thrusting into the giant's grasp, shuddering as he came between them, hot spurts coated their bellies and Heavy's hand and cock. He gasped, eyes wide, shaking as the Russian didn't stop, picking up speed, now spurred on by the slick slide of their cocks and Scout's come.

It was with a nasal, restrained groan that Heavy followed Scout over the edge. He clutched the little faun close, burying his face in his slim neck as he voiced his pleasure. A shiver ran up his spine as he stalled out, mixing their seed between them.

They stayed like that for a while, heavy breaths slowing, sticky bodies intertwined, adoration and euphoria plastered across their faces in loopy smiles. Gradually, Scout let his legs fall to the mat, his arms following shortly after, and that was Heavy's cue to roll off of the smaller man and tug him close against his body to cuddle.

Burying his face in the softness of the Russian's chest, Scout sniffed and nuzzled, a lazy arm thrown over his lover's side.

It felt right.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good. Great. Amazin'," the faun mumbled with a soft laugh.

"This is good. Am glad you are back to old self."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"We just make love, yes? You did not say mean things, did not take control, did not even scratch me."

Scout stared blankly at Heavy's chest for a moment, then looked up, wide-eyed. His lover smiled down at him. "You're right! Holy shit, Heavy! Did you just romance the rut outta me?" Scout gaped, beaming.

"Probably not. Just have very good timing," Heavy chuckled. "But we can say it was that. It make me look very dashing, da?"

The faun's shoulders shook with a laugh. "You already look pretty freakin' dashin', big guy. Well, I guess when you ain't covered in jizz in the middle of a wrestlin' ring, maybe."

"Then how do I look now?"

"Perfect," same Scout's dreamy reply, accompanied by another nuzzle into his lover's chest hair.

"Nyet, is you, Scout."

"Heavy?"

"Da?"

"Why'd you stop callin' me little Scout and tiny Scout? You just been callin' me Scout."

Heavy shrugged. "Does not seem right to call potential boyfriend such things. But if you like it, I will do this thing, tiny Scout."

"Boyfriend..." the faun's voice trailed off, unsure even what to make of it, but it made his guts flutter and knot, and he liked it. "What about the Doc?"

"Doktor is first in heart, but does not mean there is no more room, that heart is full. And does not mean I am only man Doktor loves. We will talk to Doktor, and see if maybe there is room for three."  
"You're serious?"

"Am serious. We will shower, we will eat, and we will go talk to Doktor. But for now, we finish what we start. You leave earlier, and was not done cuddling you. So we make up difference now."

"Hey, you fell asleep!"

"Does not mean cuddle is over. Means cuddle is very good."

"You'd know. You're like the master of it."

Heavy pressed a kiss to Scout's forehead. "Have very good partner."

**Author's Note:**

> huge thanks to voxmyriad for amazing beta work!


End file.
